


Everyone Has A Hobby

by midnightecho



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightecho/pseuds/midnightecho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets back to 221B to find someone's been baking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Has A Hobby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thespeckledbrunette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespeckledbrunette/gifts).



> Happy birthday Alex ^^

Before Sherlock even reached the door to 221B he could smell the delicious scent of baking drifting towards him through the open window above, a sweet smell that brought back memories of the occasions when Mycroft liked to make a cake or two - though he always denied the hobby whenever Sherlock brought it up in the playground.

As he stood on the street looking up at the window, an out-of-tune humming followed the wonderful aroma. A smile curled the corner of his lips; no matter how much she denied it, Mrs Hudson loved acting housekeeper.

He took the stairs two at a time and swung the door to the flat wide in a slightly over-enthusiastic fashion, shrugging his coat off with ease and tossing it somewhere to his right, ignoring the muffled crash that followed, before whipping off his scarf in one smooth, expert motion and sending it towards the same fate as his coat. "I don't recall the last time any baking was done in this flat," Sherlock called without turning to the kitchen.

"That's because you're always using the oven for 'experiments'," a voice replied - though not the one he was expecting. Sherlock had been toeing his shoes off (which he had been getting into the habit of since John complained about the dirt he traipsed through the house after each of his little expeditions around London) but stopped mid-motion, stood up straight and spun to face the kitchen with a confused look on his face. He glided towards the back of the flat and popped his head around the kitchen doorway.

John stood by the counter turned to face him, sleeves of his favourite cream sweater pushed up to his elbows, hands mittened with oven gloves holding a tray of batter-filled cake cases. Flour spattered the apron tied around his middle as well as the counter behind him, where various utensils were scattered with blobs of the mixture on and around them. On top of the cooker sat a second tray filled with piping hot cupcakes fresh from the oven. The ex-army doctor's expression was one that made it clear that he was used to the heavily judging look Sherlock must have been giving him, but also that he no longer cared (apart from when he noticed Sherlock still had his shoes on - then he simply looked exasperated).

_"You're_ the one cooking?" Sherlock asked incredulously - and perhaps a little overdramtically as it was taking a while for the fact to sink in.

"Who else would it be?" John asked, a small smile pulling the corner of his mouth as he watched Sherlock's confusion.

"Well, I-" Sherlock suddenly looked down at the awkward angle he was stood at, realising only his head and hands were visible to John, and stepped into the kitchen properly like a normal person. Not that he was normal. "I heard Mrs Hudson singing when I arrived, I thought she-"

_"Not your housekeeper!"_ came the shout from another room of the flat. Sherlock distantly wondered how she'd heard him.

John's smile widened before he turned back to the oven to place the tray in his hands in to cook. Closing the oven door with a bang - the catch was a little old and often needed a bit of force - he straightened up again, pulled of the oven gloves and turned to Sherlock, who still seemed mildly perplexed.

"Why are you baking?" Sherlock asked, apparently not content that he'd had a suitable explanation.

"Everyone has a hobby."

"You're telling me yours is _baking?"_ John only seemed more amused. "And you didn't think I'd like to join in?"

It was John's turn to look confused. "You've never taken any kind of interest in 'normal' hobbies so far as I've seen."

"You do see, but you-"

"-do not observe," John finished with an exhausted roll of his eyes. "So are you saying you would like to help bake some cakes?"

"Well there's not really much to do anymore, is there?" Sherlock said, a slight whine to his voice, as he prodded one of the blobs of cake mix, disheartened.

John sighed. "Well if you really want, you can lick the spoons," he said, half-jokingly.

Sherlock's face lit up, and before John could protest, the detective had tossed every spoon on the worktop into the near-empty mixing bowl and grabbed a spatula from the drying rack for good measure to make sure to got out every last scrap of the cake mix. He perched on the table and set to work immediately. John watched with bewildered awe as Sherlock put the bowl of a teaspoon into his mouth upside-down, sucking the mixture off as he slowly pulled it out again. He caught a drip of mixture from the end of the spoon with his tongue before casting the now clean spoon towards the washing up bowl - amazingly, it landed in the bubbly water with a splash. He then proceeded to do the same with the other teaspoon and - impressively - with the tablespoon John had used to measure and stir in the flour; the spoon only just fit in his mouth. The wooden spoon, on the other hand, didn't at all and Sherlock had to resort to licking the mixture off in long strokes. When it came to the bowl, he ran the spatula around the curved sides in smooth motions then tilted it towards his mouth to lap it up - sometimes at such an odd angle that John was sure some would fall off and into his lap, but he caught every drop. When the most was retrieved, Sherlock cast aside the spatula and ran an index finger around the circular corner at the base of the bowl and sucked the last of the mixture off contentedly before rising and dropping the bowl into the soapy water, plucking one of the steaming cakes out of the tray as though it were room temperature and proceeding back to the living room without another word.

John stood blinking for a moment after Sherlock had left the kitchen before shaking his head and turning back to the oven to check the cakes within. John had thought nothing could surprise him anymore, but as was always the case with Sherlock, he'd been proven wrong.


End file.
